


His Brother's Keeper

by Xela



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consent Play, Dom/sub, Dominance, M/M, Prostitution, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:25:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xela/pseuds/Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam catches Dean whoring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Brother's Keeper

“Sammy, look--” Sam snarls and pushes Dean against the wall, his brother's head smacking against the unforgiving brick.

“Don't you dare Sammy ME,” he growls dangerously. Dean swallows nervously, his brother's ire ghosting over his skin.

“OK. OK, Sam.” Dean tries to appease his brother, to calm him down, because he doesn't like the glint in those hazel eyes. There's danger underneath the anger burning hot, dark anger. Dean takes a deep breath. “Look, lets—”

“Shut up,” Sam commands, and twines his fingers in the collar of his older brother's too-tight tee. Dean stumbles with a surprised squawk as Sam stalks off towards their hotel room, dragging Dean behind.

Dean remains silent as he's yanked around, his little brother using his height to his advantage. Sam lets him go once they're safely inside, and Dean automatically fixes the salt lines over the door. He takes another deep steadying breath before turning to face his brother, steeling himself for Sam's disappointed BitchFace.

“Three hundred enough?” Sam asks him, shoving a wad of cash in Dean's face. Dean blinks and looks at the money under his nose in confusion.

“What?”

“For the night.” Sam's gaze is hard and unyielding. Dean snatches the money and tosses it over his shoulder in anger.

“Sam, I'm not taking your--” Sam pushes his brother against the hotel door, his hand pressed firmly against Dean's lips.

“You took my money. That means you're mine for the night. So shut. Up.” Dean has never seen his brother's eyes so cold and empty; not directed at him. It makes Dean suddenly, unbearably angry, and he yanks Sam's hand away.

“The fuck, Sam. Let me go.” Sam's laugh is dark, and he presses his long, tall body flush against Dean. His hips rotate, grinding his erection against Dean. That's when Dean starts panicking. “Seriously, dude, I get it, you're pissed. You can get off now.”

“That's what I plan to do,” Sam whispers, his hands catching Dean's wrists with bruising force. Sam is all of 17, but with his height and anger, Dean can't move him. “You may be a whore, Dean, but you're *my* whore.”

Sam slams his mouth down on Dean's, his teeth tearing into Dean's lower lip. Dean tastes blood and anger, and bucks against the invasion. Sam pulls back and Dean turns his head away, unwilling to let Sam see how wrecked he is. He lets Sam pin his hands above his head, both wrists ground together in one massive palm. Sam bites down on the join of Dean's neck, sucking until Dean can feel the bruise, sensitive and painful. He goes slack, falling into the hard length of Sam's body, giving in. There's not a thing he won't give his brother, won't do for him. Not even this.

“Please, Sam,” he whispers, a last ditch plea for mercy. “Don't...” But Sam either doesn't hear him, or doesn't care. 

He grinds against Dean, merciless and demanding, taking his pleasure however he wants it. “Strip,” Sam hisses. Dean stumbles clumsily as his support is taken away, dazed and thick. 

He pauses for a moment, waiting for his Sammy to come back, to tell him this is all a big mistake.

Sam looks back at him, arms crossed and eyes like ice. No mercy, no quarter; Dad had taught him that. Dean silently sheds his clothes, the sprayed-on jeans and strategically ripped shirt fluttering to the ground along with his pride. 

He stands stripped bare in front of Sam.

Sam uses him. Carefully, it's true, but he's still whoring himself out. He tries disappearing into himself, like he always does in situations like this, a place where everything is easy and numb and not.

“Dean,” Sam whispers softly, his breath hot on the shell of Dean's ear. Dean tries to resist, but Sam pulls him into a kiss, gentle and tender and so fucking intimate Dean breaks under it, tears streaming down his face as Sam, Sammy, slips inside. 

Dean trembles, trying to shove all his emotions back, to pack them away, but Sam-- _god damn it Sam!_ \--won't fucking let him.

Sam touches him with what feels like love, kisses his skin with what feels like reverence. Dean wants to scream, because Sam doesn't need to mark him, doesn't need to suck tiny bruises all over Dean's body or leave teeth marks on his ribs. Sam's broken Dean for anyone else, claimed his body inside and out. There's nowhere for Dean to hide, nothing left to salvage but whatever Sam sees fit to give him back.

Dean comes on command, his brother's toy, and there's come on his chest, in his body. Tears wet on his face. He shatters apart, comes unglued at the seams. 

Sam calls him Dean as he rides his own orgasm, but the man underneath Sam isn't sure what it means to be Dean anymore.

And with one word Sam puts him back together, defines what it means to be _Dean._ He's left reeling in the aftermath, terrified of the power his brother has over him but unable (unwilling?) to take it away.

“Mine.”


End file.
